


the start of it all

by Bloodsbane



Series: Sashay AU [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Gen, Humor, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Sex Work, Strippers & Strip Clubs, lonelyeyes is established but nothing else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:40:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27997644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloodsbane/pseuds/Bloodsbane
Summary: It's just a typical night on the job for Martin, bartending for patrons of the popular strip clubSashay. That is, until Elias Bouchard shows up with someone new.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas, Martin Blackwood/Peter Lukas
Series: Sashay AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2050611
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30





	the start of it all

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so. This is really just the introduction to a much larger AU that my friend Zyka and I have been talking about for... quite a while! We spent a whole week straight talking/writing about it! 
> 
> No promises on how much of this series, in full, will be properly written. However, There are scraps of it that have been written and can be re-formatted/edited based on our DMs, so I figured it wouldn't hurt to finally set up the series and just add to it if other parts of it end up getting written. You can thank Martinelias week for prompting this, since I wanted to post one of the spruced-up scenes as contribution ;3c
> 
> There are gonna be some minor credits in the end-notes of this fic, but otherwise, that's everything! Hope you enjoy~

Martin’s day tends to follow a pretty straightforward — if unconventional — routine. He wakes up around 11, eats a late breakfast, then lounges about his apartment before running necessary errands. Most of his afternoon is spent on chores or reading, sometimes poetry, sometimes naps. 

Then, by 7 or 8 PM, Martin is out of the house and ready for work. It’s a short commute to the club, and while Martin doesn’t technically start his shift until nine, he likes coming in early to help with setup or touch base with his boss, Sasha, if anything is amiss. 

Always, Sasha is there with Tim. Mike is blocked off from the rest of them, safely locked away in his gift shop, inspecting the shelves and preparing for the evening. Tim is going over the night’s schedule with Sasha, the two of them seated casually on the main stage, thighs and shoulders resting comfortably against each other. Martin has always found it cute, the way Tim has to hunch when he looks over Sasha’s shoulders to see her tablet. 

When they see Martin, they wave. Sometimes Tim hops right up and throws his arm over Martin’s shoulder, maybe gives him a peck on the cheek before asking after his day. The answer is almost always brief and boring, and Martin is quick to encourage Tim to go over his schedule for the night instead. 

Most evenings, Martin sticks to the bar. He mixes drinks and chats up patrons, doling out alcohol and smiles, accepting tips and flirtations in return. Sometimes he wears his usual clothes. Sometimes, he wears less; tight jeans or shorts, often paired with tops that show off his freckled shoulders, or reveal the cleavage he tends to keep hidden under a sweater. The tips are always good on nights like that. 

Fridays and Saturdays, however, Martin is usually out by 9:30 with a client. Dates from Martin’s Boyfriend Package tend to run 2-3 hours, with five being the absolute maximum. In the beginning, Martin stuck with the ‘easy’ jobs: a late dinner, maybe dessert, and a walk around the city. Sometimes, for the loyal clients, the ones Sasha has vetted and trusts, Martin allows the date to take him back to their place. 

Those outings are usually pretty nice. Satisfying in a way Martin had never expected he would enjoy. But this job is nothing like he originally expected — honestly, it’s better than he could have ever hoped. A good clientele, the best paycheck for any job he’s ever had, and amazing co-workers. Speaking of…

Martin cleans a glass and grins at the sight of Tim on stage. He’s easing everyone into a night of titillating performances, cracking jokes and calling out regulars playfully. The sequins in his vest sparkle green and orange under the lights, drawing attention to just how small and tight the garment is on him. Martin wonders if Tim is going to try making the button pop off again — he’d gotten quite a round of applause for that one a couple months ago. 

First up is Jude, the resident spitfire, with a pole dancing routine. She’s excellent, Martin will freely admit, but it’s easy for him to keep his eye on the counter while she’s on stage. He listens to the women in the crowd swoon over Jude, giggling loudly whenever the dancer throws some backhanded compliment their way. After her is Rosie’s burlesque, which is always very fun, especially when she’s doing the secretary bit as she is tonight. Martin catches a few glimpses of her dancing, twisting expertly on her heels as she sings a frightfully complicated tongue-twister of a song — something about office work and disobedience — while intermittently flinging off parts of her stuffy outfit to reveal something hot pink underneath. 

A water bottle is ready for her when she swings by the bar on her way to the back room, and Martin waves when she thanks him, breathless, before she disappears behind a curtain. After Rosie is a short intermission. Martin knows behind the main curtain of the stage, Jon plays the piano. It’s soft and distant, but loud enough to carry into the rest of the club, whatever the sound setup is. It’s not really the sort of thing Martin understands, content to leave most of the technicalities and complexities to Sasha. 

As it is, Martin focuses on his job, greeting all the patrons who stop by for a drink or a topping off before returning to their seats. It’s at this time that Elias Bouchard enters the building. Martin almost misses him, busy as he is, but something about the man always demands attention. Maybe it’s the obvious wealth displayed with his outfit, a suit sharp enough to cut you if you stare long enough, and the subtle glint of jewelry on his person. And he’s certainly a handsome man, no doubt; Martin is sure that helps. 

Elias Bouchard has been coming to _Sashay_ for about six months. He’s an interesting patron, at least compared to the majority: stone-faced, with an air of propriety that never leaves him, even as he watches the dancers from his spot in the crowd. The only time he ever seems close to losing his composure is when Jon takes the stage. 

That brings with it the usual cocktail of Complicated Emotions, and Martin tries to look away, tries to ignore Elias as he usually does, but then something else catches his eye. There’s a man at the door, just standing there. Daisy, standing only a head taller than him — and she’s easily the tallest person in the club — gives him a calculating look. For a moment Martin wonders if he’s wandered into the building on accident, but then Elias is twisting back toward him with a frown on his face. He says something Martin can’t hear, and the man finally leaves the doorway to follow. 

Now _that’s_ interesting. Elias has never brought anyone else to the club before. Martin can’t get a good look at him before they disappear behind the silhouettes of his thirsty patrons, but he sees a dark coat and a grey beard. Is he a friend? Martin and half of the other employees were betting on the fact that Elias didn’t _have_ any friends. 

With some effort, Martin pushes it from his mind. The performances will be starting again in a few minutes, and if he hurries, he’ll have a moment of peace to watch. Next up will be Cody, another pole dancer, then Jon with a dressing-down, both for himself and the audience. 

Jon’s acts are always something special, and Martin is _not_ just saying that because he’s been nursing a minor crush on the man since he got hired. Jon is a genuinely excellent performer — Sasha and Tim have mentioned before that Jon used to do theater in school, even as he studied for a career in academia. He never breaks character, not from nerves or distractions, and has a uniquely alluring singing voice that he utilizes on very special occasions. God, his voice in general is a dark chocolate delight, heavy and stern and perfect for talking down the crowd, for monologuing, for dropping an extra octave as he growls into the mic… 

Martin makes himself turn away, wipe down counters, greet customers as they wander over to the bar and serve them drinks. Keeps his mind carefully empty, even as he feels himself grow more and more excited. He loves watching Jon perform. This, at least, is one piece of the Elias Bouchard puzzle he can understand. 

When Jon walks on stage, the crowd’s mood changes. Many of those in the front row, some resting their hands or elbows on the stage, bid a notable retreat. Jon isn’t the only performer with a strict No Touch policy, but he is the only one who will, without a second thought, stab a hand with his heel if anyone dares. He only accepts tips via a donation box or upturned hat, though sometimes he might reach out and grab the money, stuffing it into his top or waistband while maintaining heavy eye contact, which Martin knows is just as good as a thank-you lap dance from anyone else. 

Tonight’s show is one of Jon’s more basic affairs, though no less enjoyable. It mostly consists of him talking to members of the crowd, taking note of newcomers, welcoming them, then signaling out regulars who don’t mind a bit of a roast for the entertainment of the crowd. It’s a delicate balance, and Jon always has to be careful with how harsh he is — his tone can be cutting, even if it’s all an act. But he’s been at this for years and, well, it’s _Jon_. He can be a bit of a perfectionist. It’s no wonder he’s so good at his job. 

The man has a loose cardigan drooping off one shoulder, revealing a strip of something silky, shining lavender beneath the overhead lights. It’s the only thing that hints that this is more than a simple back and forth. Martin knows that soon, inch by inch, Jon will begin removing his clothes. First a button on the cardigan, then the lace of one boot, then the boot, leaving only a thigh-high white stocking. Those jean shorts will be unzipped, to show something soft and lacy underneath, and if the crowd is lucky, Jon might slip them off before he exits the stage. 

About halfway through Jon’s act, as he’s moving up and down the catwalk, degrading one of the regulars for coming in so often, for drooling at Cody’s performance like a dog, someone comes up to the bar and Martin reluctantly turns away. Some of his disappointment fades, however, when he realizes who it is: the man Elias arrived with. 

Martin takes him in as he gets situated. He’s a large, broad-shouldered guy, with a greying beard and mustache. He’s got quite a lot of hair, actually, rough sideburns climbing up to blend into a surprisingly soft-looking head of gentle curls. It’s thick despite his age, with a few locks hanging down to his brow, just barely long enough for his lashes to catch them as he slowly blinks Martin’s way. 

He orders a simple drink, something with rum, and Martin hurries to get it made. He listens as Jon’s performance comes to a close, and makes sure the glass is in front of the man in time for him to clap along with the crowd. It takes a moment for him to blink away the sight of Jon, clad in little more than a satin crop-top and booty shorts, bending over to pick up his box of tips. 

“Not sure I quite understand the appeal, but Elias has always possessed particular tastes, so I suppose he suits him.” 

Martin turns around, brow furrowed, but the man is already turned away from the stage, sipping his drink. He’s got terrible posture, hunched over the counter as if guarding his drink, yet something about him conveys delicacy. Maybe it’s in the way he holds his glass, or something about how assured he seems, even though the club is clearly not his scene. He doesn’t even glance at the next performer when they take the stage, staring wistfully at a distant corner of the room like he’d much rather be tucked away there than within view of any dancer. 

Martin puts on his usual smile, something friendly and welcoming, but still professional. It’s a look he’s perfected over the years, and it’s excellent at making people talk to him. Playing dumb, he asks, “D’you mean Jon?” 

The man blinks at his little distant corner, then those eyes slide over to Martin and _wow_ , they are blue. It’s a washed-out shade, with a hint of green, but still striking even in the dim lighting. They seem not to see Martin for a moment, then focus on his hands, holding a glass for another patron’s drink. “That’s the one. Elias seems quite taken with him.”

It’s a bit of a challenge, keeping his expression neutral. Elias has always been fixated on Jon, ever since he started coming to _Sashay_ , and while it’s never been creepy per-say — no creepier than anyone else enjoying Jon’s shows — there’s something about Elias that is so _intense_ towards Jon, and Martin knows his friend can feel it. Jon’s always been good about keeping at arm’s length with patrons, though, even if Elias is a very eager donor for anything Jon is involved in. He gets a few perks as a generous regular, but nothing that oversteps. He doesn’t even seem particularly inclined to try, Martin admits begrudgingly. Like he’s perfectly content to merely soak Jon in, to _want_ , but never to touch. 

“He does like Jon,” Martin admits, fumbling a bit for the words when he realizes he’s been quiet for too long. He spends a minute delivering drinks and accepting tips, wanting to ask more, so very curious about Elias and this strange man, but work comes first. 

To his surprise, the man speaks up again, this time addressing Martin on purpose. “Another, please,” he says, tapping the counter near his empty glass. “If I’m gonna be here all night indulging that man, I’ll need a bit of help.”

As Martin draws near to retrieve it, the man asks, “So which one are you?” 

“I’m- Pardon?”

“Elias has been coming here for ages. That Jon fellow is his favorite, but he’s mentioned others.”

“I- I’m, um, Martin. Martin Blackwood?” 

“Hm.” 

Martin stands there for a second, unsure and unsteady, before giving him a shaky smile and going to fix his drink. When he comes back, Peter is looking towards the stage, or maybe the crowd. Is he searching for Elias? 

“If, um- sorry,” Martin stutters, placing the drink down, “But if you don’t mind my asking, how- how do you know Elias? Are you two friends?” 

This actually wrings a laugh out of the man, who looks just as surprised as Martin when it happens. He scratches his beard, smirking, and in that moment Martin notices a gold band on his left hand. “Husband, actually.”  
  


“Oh! Really?” The words are out before Martin can help himself, but like, _really?_ It’s not news that Elias Bouchard is a married man — he seems proud to display his ring, its many facets greedily catching the colorful lights of the club and throwing it back into everyone's face. No one at _Sashay_ is a stranger to the concept of adulterous men who guiltily slip their wedding rings off before taking a seat, but Elias has never seemed worried over displaying his marital status when he visits. This makes a lot more sense, Martin thinks. Elias brought his husband to a strip club he’s been frequenting for half a year, during a performance of his favorite dancer — there is clearly no sneaking around going on. This, too, is not uncommon in Martin’s line of work. Some couples enjoy indulging in such things together. Some, he has learned, even feed off it. Use it as fuel. 

He can’t stop his blush before it arrives, but Martin at least has the excuse of his job to drag him away from the man’s vaguely amused expression. 

For a little while longer, things are almost normal. Elias’ husband takes one more drink, just a tad stronger, then sits quietly for the next half hour. It isn’t until the second intermission that Elias comes by to pick him up. Martin isn’t close enough to overhear their conversation, but Elias seems pleased, and is resting a hand on his husband’s forearm the entire time they talk. Martin notices Tim waving at him beyond the heads of bar patrons, and when he looks, he can’t help snorting at his friend as he wildly gestures towards Elias with a confounded expression. Martin merely waves a hand in a placating gesture, raising his brows in a manner he hopes conveys that he has juicy gossip to spill. 

Free from his duties for a moment, Martin glances back to find Elias is gone, walking towards the entrance. His husband is sliding out of his stool, finishing off the last of his drink. As he puts it down, Martin floats over, smoothly taking the glass and moving to put it away in the sink. 

“Just a moment,” the man mumbles, distracted. Martin wavers. He watches the man rummage through his wallet for another minute before he pulls out single fifty-pound note. With the smallest smile, mostly hidden behind his scraggly beard, he pushes it across the counter to Martin.

Martin, who has never gotten such a large tip from just serving drinks, simply stares. It takes every ounce of strength in him to break out free of his shock in time to grab for the note and squeak, “I can’t take this!” 

“Hm? Why not?”

Why not, indeed. Martin feels himself getting flustered, red all over his cheeks, probably to his ears now. Thank god for the lighting, though the man is probably close enough to see at least some of it. “It’s, it’s too much,” Martin feebly protests. 

“There’s no problem,” is all the man says, and he’s already half-turned, like he wants to leave. Martin feels abruptly hyper-conscious of his own needless resistance, of the fact that he’s probably holding up Elias as well as the man, and blushes even harder. 

“W-well, thank you,” he manages to say. Then, because it’s the perfect excuse, “Mr…? Just, um, Mr. Bouchard?”

This somehow earns him another one of those laughs. It’s barely a laugh at all, really, more like a huff, though it’s accompanied by a glimpse of teeth when the man’s lips curl into a smile. “Dear heavens, no. We keep our last names. Just Peter is fine.” 

“I- Peter. Alright. Thank you, Peter. Have a good evening.” 

“And to you,” says Peter, tipping his head the slightest bit before he heads off to where Elias waits, arms crossed. 

Tim is upon him before Martin has barely any time to tuck away the money. “Who in the hell was _that?”_

“If you can believe it, Elias’ husband,” Martin supplies, and watches with fondness as Tim gapes and dashes off to inform everyone else of the development. He rubs at his cheeks, grateful that the blush is already disappearing, and goes back to his work. He’s at the bar for at least another hour before things change up. Martin lets himself ease back into the comfort of his routine, putting Elias and Peter out of his mind, until only the sound of the distant piano fills his head. 

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to attribute credit to The Magnus Writer's server; the original concept for this AU's setting started in a bunnies channel over there! Then Zyka and I quickly fixated on the possibility of Martin/Peter being a focus, and everything from that point on was us building off from that deviance.


End file.
